


Serial Number

by saviorbrother



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saviorbrother/pseuds/saviorbrother
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all that's gold glitters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serial Number

"Those Winchester boys ain't nothing but trash and trouble, Castiel."

He flicks cigarette ash at Balthazar and eyes his brother up and down.

"Better watch your tongue," he warns, takes another drag.

"And what can they do to me? I'm a fucking angel," the blonde booms into the mansion.

The Winchester Mansion. Infamous. Castiel stopped serving the lord a long time ago. He serves under both of the Righteous Men, and where exactly do murderers get off being righteous?

"We kill anything and everything."

Cas exhales with a shake of his head at the bottom of the marble steps and Balthazar stops his rant in the middle of the grand foyer. Dean comes to stand beside him at the bottom with a suit crisper than winter wind.

The front doors lock and Cas knows he can't save Balthazar. They'll kill him right here on the granite floors, just polished that morning, and use his blood to paint a mural.

"Tell me, Castiel. Do you want to see your friend die?" Jensen asks from behind him.

He lets them sit in silence and puts his cigarette out on the railing, ending with a sizzle. He's been asked a question and he knows the answer.

"Whatever you both wish. My Lords."

Balthazar makes a high-pitched sound of surprise. Castiel meets his eyes with guilt and apology that he can't save him. He looks over at his true friend, his role model, and Dean is watching him with appreciation.

Castiel watches Dean hold Balthazar down till Jensen gets down the steps with one knife made out of pure gold and the other of sterling silver.

"Which one do you want to die by, Balthie?" Jensen walks around them in a teasing circle, his shadow penetrating parts of light in the room.

"You're both demons. A pair of absolute snakes!" the trapped angel hisses in hysteria.

"That doesn't answer my question. So, I'll just choose my favorite," Jensen shrugs, careless.

He tosses the gold towards Castiel's feet and the sharp tip bumps his toes. His image is distorted in the shiny glint.

"Make new friends, but keep the old; Those are silver, these are gold," Jensen cracks his face into a disturbing smile.

"Ya' know. If I could hold your wings," Dean whispers inches from Balthazar's mouth, "I'd slice them off and hang them on my wall."

Jensen cackles and brings the blade down into the angel's mouth, bright light pouring from every orifice on his face. He knew Balthazar for such a long time and it pains Castiel greatly to see him go, but the Winchester's are too important to him. He's been given purpose by their side.

"Dean? Jensen?" an inquiring voice asks from the top of the steps.

All three turn towards the tall man standing at the top of the stairs.

"Sam, baby, go back to the library," Dean calls up to him.

"I would be in there if you weren't always killing somebody down here!" Sam raises his arms in exasperation.

He's still in his pajamas, a long sleeve shirt and cotton pants. If Castiel squints he can make out a large bruise on the youngest brother's neck. The staircases that lead down here are long and dramatic.

"Want us to keep it down next time?" Dean asks, bored.

"Castiel, escort that princess back to his den," Jensen sighs.

Blood pools around Balthazar's head and his eyes stare lifelessly up at the ceiling. Castiel looks towards the Heavens and wonders if he can still go there.

"Okay," he answers, "okay."

\---

Sam fucking Winchester. The most sane of them all. Just as deadly, maybe more than his twin brothers. He is their keeper. He is the one that holds the leash on both of those crazed men.

They deal drugs, run schemes, and induce fear during the day. During the night, they hunt whatever thinks it can make the dark its home. When you've got one of the twins on your tail it feels more like having hellhounds snapping at your heels, ready to drag you back to Hell.

"Castiel?" Jensen asks, quietly.

He finished taking Sam back to the library. Balthazar's body is gone and Dean is stepping in the blood left behind with a deep look in his eyes.

"Yes?"

"Do you think..." he trails off, turning his back on Cas.

"Think what?"

"Do you think we messed Sam up?" Jensen finishes.

"Messed him up?" Castiel repeats, coming closer.

Sunlight creates a halo around Dean's head. They could have been angels too.

"He doesn't blink when we kill. Hasn't. Ever."

Sam is thirty-two years old and has no qualms about being in love with serial killers.

"Your brother was born into a blood bath. He was meant for this," Castiel informs.

He was born to be an accessory to murder. Be a grounding point for the brothers, a reason to live and not kill each other.

"Why do you ask?"

"We're not getting any younger. Leaves a lot to think on, you know?" Dean grumbles.

"Like what would he have been without us?" Jensen wonders.

"The King of Hell," Castiel supplies, matter-of-factly.

Jensen peers over at him. Laughs loudly.

"Yeah. Guess he would be."

The downward tilt of his friend's lips tells him otherwise. There wouldn't be a world without all three in it.

\---

"Crowley, either you hand her over or they'll kill you," Sam purses his mouth, smug.

Amara cowers behind her so-called uncle. Sam wants them to rip out her throat.

"Now, now, Moose. You know I won't do that," the man sucks his teeth.

Dean and Jensen yank at invisible chains, snarling, thirsting to kill Crowley and Amara.

"You know who rightfully owns the throne, don't you?" Sam mutters.

He lays a hand on broad shoulders to calm both men. They'll need to go on another spree before they go back home.

"I've had it with you demons acting high and mighty when I could break your neck ten different ways with a snap of my fingers."

Dean chances a look over at Jensen, his brother is intent on Amara. Sam's words make his blood boil with exhilaration because things like that don't leave those lips often. The grip on his knife has his knuckles going white, he's ready to go in for the kill. Bound to that bitch or not, he's enslaved to bloodlust.

"Cool your pets, will you?" Crowley shouts in a panic.

"Jensen," Sam commands, stepping backward to allow him to pass.

Dean has to watch in alarm as his brothers are thrown out of the room, slamming into the door across the hall. He's quick to lunge forward towards Amara and gets to sink the knife into her gut, the gruesome sound of the metal piercing her forces a smile onto his lips. His stomach cramps in a new, odd way he's never experienced, but that can't stop him from wanting to drink the blood beginning to spill from her open mouth.

"Tell me what it feels like to die," he asks, his voice fascinated.

Scarlet spills into the cracks of her quivering mouth under his eyes. He's studied the signs of death too often to miss them.

"You'll know soon," she wheezes and red demise spills from her mouth like a waterfall.

\---

Jensen blinks rapidly behind the lenses of his glasses and Dean sits rigidly.

"I much rather prefer men."

The noise in the room dies down with the words that have crawled from Jensen's throat. He can't manage to lie about his sexuality anymore. Years of keeping it from Dad, Bobby, even Dean for a time, have let him with no tolerance for bullshit.

"Well, no worries. We can arrange some sweet boys for you, too," the fat man laughs.

Sam's mouth tasted like the cherry pie they ate at dinner last night. He forced little brother to his knees at the table and pushed his cock in between sticky lips, held him by his jaw and made him choke.

"I've already got one," he breathes, too low for the guy to hear.

He blinks harder and sweat gathers on his upper lip. Dean puts a hand on his bouncing knee, hadn't even noticed, and begins to calm him as he talks business.

"Come dance with me, Jen," Sam asks, softly.

He comes back into himself and looks to his right where his little brother stands, looking down at him with a glint in his eyes. Sam is beautiful in an emerald tux tonight and his hair cut just below his ears. Dean squeezes his knee twice to signal that he can handle this alone, and Jensen stands to take Sam's hand.

They make their way to the middle of the ballroom, under all the twinkling lights and smoky air. He and Sam twirl around and around, elegantly. Sam looks down at him and Jensen can't stop staring at him, the glasses magnify it all by a hundred. He isn't sorry. Sammy throws his head back and laughs so loudly, like Jensen's infatuation is the funniest joke he's ever heard.

Dean ends his handshake abruptly at the boisterous sound on the dance floor.

"You have a good night," he nods to his client.

Once he makes him a million, he'll burn a million marks into every inch of his blotchy skin to show his thanks.

For now, he grabs his drink and strides over to watch his brothers dance. They haven't noticed that the whole party has their eyes on them. Classical music ascending and then crashing, Jensen spins a smiling Sam in surging circles. Dean has two left feet and can't dance for shit, never could.

The song ends as Dean loosens his bow-tie and finishes his drink. The crowd claps for them, delicate but appraising for the entertainment they've provided.

"Hey, you never wanna dance with us," Sam bounds over to him with Jensen in tow.

His face has a sheen of sweat, color high on his cheeks, and he has to keep brushing his hair away from his happy face. Dean regards him with a laugh over the lip of his empty glass.

"We should get on home," Jensen says from behind him.

"Oh," Sam breathes in soft surprise, eyes drooping.

Dean looks around for the cause of the weird reaction and comes to rest between Sam's legs. The tips of Jensen's hand peek through the gap of trembling thighs.

"C'mon, let's get to the car," Dean snickers.

\---

"Wait, the seats--fuck," Sam argues weakly.

Dean has him pinned in the back of the SUV and he isn't going anywhere with his shirt ripped wide open and slacks pulled down to his knees.

"Don't tell me to wait," Dean hisses, putting a forearm to Sam's throat.

Jensen pulls his gaze away after seeing Sam squirm and gasp for air. He can breathe, but he doesn't want to. He watches the couple stumbling into a dark, dank alley across the street.

"Stay like this while we go take care of them."

 

The couple is innocent and they don't see Dean and Jensen hunting them down. Anyone who'd notice two twin figures stalking and cornering them in the dark would either cower or fight. They're giggling as Jensen's' knife slips out of the sleeve of his suit jacket and Dean's breath quickens.

Screaming and pleading, the warmth and comfort of blood. Carnage and the disgusting smell of trash, Jensen's looking up at the car. Sam is there with the overhead light on, watching them. He doesn't make a move as Dean digs his hands into the man's guts and groans.

The woman's eyes look up into his, death of hope, endless in more possibilities of murder. Dean lifts hand-fulls of intestines from the body like it's the only thing he loves, and Jensen dwells on which one of them enjoys this more.

\---

Dean hears the flurry of wings in the grand lobby of their mansion. He could pick up almost any sound, doesn't matter if Castiel was trying to be silent. Sam letting out a blood-curdling cry from their bedroom distracts him momentarily from the eerie shadows cast along the marble floors. Shadows of angels, demons, and humans he's slaughtered coming back for a visit. He's gone more insane than he lets on.

His shoes don't squeak, squeal, or cry when he turns towards the stairs and begins the ascent upwards towards his brothers, his fingers waft over the railing. No one, not even Sam, knows that these are made of the bones of demons, of angels, Gods, and all those they killed before building the mansion. Sam's favorite book is made of Ruby's skin.

He hums as he makes it up the last few steps and towards the master bedroom where a fire is blazing in the fireplace. Jensen's slick back is a mess of bloody scratches and Sam's fingers are moving to dig in again as he screams.

He and Jen killed a lion last year, not exactly born a lion, though, a shifter of sorts. Now its skin lays in front of the fireplace and it's large enough to fit Sam's massively long body, no matter how he stretches out. It was a big son of a bitch and they killed the creature more because it was taking out their game, slimming their pickings for their sprees.

Sam's hole looks fucked raw and looks like the cherry-red fake blood they show on TV. It depends on the kill because the blood can even look to have a tinge of blue. But Sam is begging for more in a hoarse, needy whine. The lion was just like his Sammy: strong, beautiful, dangerous, and alluring. You wanted to get close enough to touch and pet, but it'd bite you if you invaded what was his.

They're irregular and the twins know how to tame a lion. They've got this elegant beast on a leash.

"If you want it, beg me for it," Jensen pants above Sam.

Dean slips off his shoes and opens the white drawer near their bed. He lifts up the sharpest knife, Sammy's feeding knife.

"You hungry, baby boy?" Dean drawls.

He looks over his shoulder and sees big doe-eyes beckoning him closer. Shedding his jacket and rolling up his right sleeve carelessly, Dean slices a deep cut on his wrist. Sam's mouth parts greedily before Dean even gets to stand above him.

"Good boy."

Closing his fist, blood falls in a deluge of thick rivulets into Sam's waiting mouth. Time and practice has perfected his aim, but he still likes to mess that pretty face with it. Jensen shakes in bursts of his orgasm. Amara isn't gone and the bond makes his blood blacken just like his eyes. Suspended between a righteous man and a knight of hell.

And the shadows that stretch and lengthen horribly by firelight tell a story of the Boy King and his protectors. Look at them, look at the rightful heir to the throne spreading his legs like a consort and not a king. A crown carved from bone, jewels of blood, and colored gold from pure souls on top of Sam's head and the first blade in Dean's hand, and for Jensen? Who the fuck knows.

Jensen releases the ring from around Sam's swollen dick and tells him not to come. Dean sinks to his knees, either side of Sam's head so he can swallow straight from the source.

"Alright, there's something else," Dean pulls his arm away.

Jensen gets dressed as Dean feeds Sam his cock. It gets bloody as it slides across his tongue and into his throat. If asked, Sam couldn't tell them which he needed more. The sounds of gagging and wet choking, the whimpers when Dean pulls away just to shove back inside.

Sex on lion's mane in front of a roaring fire might be a bit dramatic to some, but they like to do it up big. Sam deserves what can't be rivaled.

"What kind of shit..." a voice interrupts.

Dean is yanking Sam to the base of his pulsing dick as he spills messily, his little brother coughing some of it up.

"Blasphemy," Castiel says in disbelief.

He steps into the room without permission and it makes Jensen bristle. Behind trails Chuck? God?

He can see how the picture of Sam's hips twitching upward as Dean doesn't let him breathe, come soiling the fur below, and Dean shuddering in gratification can be disturbing.

"Get off of him!" Castiel orders, coming forth.

Sam raises a single hand and Cas and Chuck go slamming into the wall near the door.

"Sam--Sam just let us down. We can help, I can help," Chuck croaks, his eyes about to roll back.

Dean rolls off to the side to let Sam up in all his naked glory. 6'5 of power and bitch-yness as he rises.

"I don't need your help. They weren't finished with me yet and now I've got to finish with both of you before I get a turn to finish. You see my dilemma, right?" Sam's smile is creepy.

"Anti-Christ!" Castiel growls, fighting the hold.

"An angel's power comes from its grace, but I wonder if it's also in your blood? If it's addicting as a demon's?" Sam wonders.

Chuck witnesses Sam's pupils dilate and focus on Castiel's throat. Blood and come soil his chin and cheeks. Sam gathers it on his fingertips and pushes them into his mouth like he can't live without it.

"What have you all become?" Chuck asks, his voice smaller than usual.

"How far you've all fallen."

"Not far enough, not yet," Sam chuckles.

"He will come for you," Castiel grunts, fighting and fighting.

"Is this not Him right here? Or a part of him?" the youngest brother asks.

His fingers reach out to brush Chuck's cheek and he recoils. He can smell the copper and sour stench.

"Then She will come."

"Amara?" Sam breathes and then hums.

"I am the beginning and the end! Blah, blah, blah. God is my brother!" Sam cries dramatically.

It reminds Castiel of Lucifer in the sickest way possible. Always triumphant before he won the battle.

"I'll kill her just like I'll kill you and you."

"She will find you!" Chuck spits up blood as Sam tightens his fist.

Ribs erupt, bones disintegrate, and his heart will rot where it sits.

"Good. Cause I love to kill Gods."

Chuck bloats with his own blood and fluids, like a vampire who's gorged itself on too many victims. He sees no difference between that and God.

"She'll send you back to Hell where you belong!" Castiel cries, unable to look over at the dead man beside him.

 

Jensen and Dean await in the back in their own type of awe and horror.

"Only if she'll come with me," Sam murmurs, his teeth stained scarlet.

"I think she and I could have been friends if she wasn't trying to rip one of my brothers from me. And ruin the land I live on."

"He bore her mark!"

"And he mine! Jensen bore the mark of your hand and who did he come back to? Dean had her mark and who has he chosen? It's me every. single. time!" Sam yells and it echoes and cracks.

"Have you sunken so low in your faith you've put your trust in another evil, Cas?"

Sam watches him as he paces, still hard between his legs.

"I have been burdened with tainted blood, blasphemy, desecration, ungodly acts. I was forced to think my world was godless!" Sam stomps his foot and the fire howls.

"Now tell me," Sam says in a low, end-of-times voice, "silver or gold, Castiel?"

Jensen brings him both angel blades.

"And what will come of this place?" Cas refers to Earth, the Universe.

"It'll all be fine. I'm not that much of a monster."

Castiel stares those glittering eyes down.

"Dean. Come do the honors."

 

"Fucking your brothers, killing innocents-"

 

"Oh, smite me, Castiel. If you ever tried them out for a spin, you'd be gone on them, too," Sam rolls his eyes.

His older brother would question him about where his God was and Castiel would point at the blue skies and pure clouds. Now, his lips turn downward, his shoulders sag, and his the feathers of his wings have been shedding and floating to the floor while his hands stay by his sides. His fingers forever pointing at the ground. A sign of where his god was headed or is, or has been.

Dean takes the gold blade in hand and steps to his destiny.

"Not all that glitters is gold, Dean. Not all that glitters is gold," Castiel whispers, desperately.

"Not all that's gold glitters," Jensen sings.

His friend looks up at him with the same sorrow he gave to Balthazar when he met his fate.

"Good thing I prefer silver, then, huh?"


End file.
